


Shadowrun Vladivostok

by WriterCookies (LewdCookies)



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: A Finn in Russia, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Character Background, Cyberpunk, Dialogue Heavy, Dinner talk, Fiction, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Science Fiction, Set in Russia, Short, Short One Shot, Some Plot, lots of talking, science-fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LewdCookies/pseuds/WriterCookies
Summary: Stories featuring or revolving around the Shadowrunner/Wheelman Viggo Räikkönen alias "Shmarovoz" or Maro.
Kudos: 3





	1. Shifting gear

She had stopped crying an hour ago and was just staring silently out the passenger window as the countryside sped past. Her grey eyes were still red and puffy from tears, mascara making long dark streaks on her freckled cheeks. Her long platinum hair was an unkempt mess, sorely needing a comb over. Her hands were tied together with a pair of cheap plastic restraints. The restraints too tightly fitted based on how she repeatedly flexed her fingers and moved her hands as if trying to make them stay alive. 

Viggo silently studied the girl in the rearview mirror as the car sped down the busy highway. Occasionally his blue eyes would make the briefest of contact with hers before she looked away again. A mixture of fright and trepidation clearly visible in them.  
“She is pretty yes?” rumbled the man in the seat next to him in Russian. A lump of muscle with a clean shaven head that had somehow been squeezed into a cheap dark suit. The contours of an automatic pistol visible underneath his jacket. His face was contorted into a lurid grin, causing the bright pink scar tissue to twist and make his face look like it was splitting into two, as he eyed the passenger in the back seat.  
Viggo said nothing, but the look he gave the map spoke volumes of what he felt. That was however unnoticed by the ganger who continued on.  
“She will fetch a nice price at the parlour.”  
At the mention of that the woman in the backseat whimpered slightly. To which the man only laughed.  
“Don’t worry little Doll, they will treat you nicely. Until you’ve grown too old,” he punctuated the comment with another rancorous laugh.  
“My name is Natasha,” she replied, a brief stint of hotness in her voice at being denigrated in such a way.  
“Soon it’ll be whatever the fuck your next customer wants it to be so shut the fuck up,” the ganger snarled back at her. In response she curled up her seat and just looked away. The ganger simply chuckled again before turning his attention back to Viggo. Oblivious to the thinly veiled look of contempt he was getting from the driver.  
On the car window an AR sign for an upcoming turnoff passed by.

“Such a shame isn’t it?” he said with a shake of his bald head, “So pretty but then she had to piss off the boss like that.”  
Viggo said nothing still and simply focused on the road. He knew that something was wrong when he had seen Natasha been dragged to the car and roughly thrown inside like she was a sack of dirt. He had almost been surprised they simply hadn’t dumped her in the trunk with how little disregard they gave her. But he figured they didn’t want to bother asking. It wasn’t the first time he had transported people to various places. This felt wrong to him. Previously it had been various gang members or acting as a getaway driver for jobs. This was something different, something foul. Next to him the ganger continued to run his mouth to pass time.   
“Of course the boss being the boss decides that such a pretty girl would be a waste to kill when she can be put into much better use at a bunraku parlour.”  
There was another whimper from the back seat, she was most likely all to well aware of what her ultimate fate was. Meanwhile Viggo’s grip around the steering wheel tightened as he saw the fear in Natasha’s eyes reemerge again. In the back of his mind he had made his decision.  
“The boss makes a statement and gets a pretty penny from it.”  
The ganger glanced over his shoulder at Natasha.  
“Maybe I’ll come by for a visit later,” he said to her, accompanied by a crude leer, “Of course you might not recognize me but I sure will.”  
Viggo resisted the urge to punch the gangers face in and simply swerved the car sharply to the side. Causing the distracted and unseatbelted ganger to be thrown to the side against the car door with a grunt.  
“Sorry,” Viggo remarked calmly, “Had to avoid some roadkill.”  
The ganger just muttered a curse under his breath before sinking back into his seat and fishing out his commlink from a pocket. In the rearview mirror Viggo caught a faint smile from Natasha.  
Another sign for the upcoming turnoff point passed by on the AR.

As the turnoff approached Viggo quickly glanced at the ganger still distracted by his commlink before he rapidly shifted gear and pressed on the gas pedal. The matt grey BMW M15 shot down the highway and he turned it sharply to the right, car zooming down the highway off ramp.  
“What the fuck?” exclaimed the ganger, the commlink falling from his hands as he pulled the gun out from underneath his jacket. In the backseat Natasha yelled in fear.  
“The fuck are you think you are doing?!” the ganger said angrily as he pressed the muzzle gun against Viggo’s temple. In response he simply pressed harder down on the gas pedal.  
“The parlour is down that way you shitstain. Turn the car around!”  
Viggo regarded the ganger cooly, eyes partly focused on the road ahead.  
“Turn the fucking car around or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”  
Viggo said nothing, his eyes now focused on the road as he slalomed between cars. His passage followed by angry honking.  
“One.”   
The end of the off ramp loomed closer.  
“Two!”  
There was an audible click as the hammer was pulled back, in the back Natasha tried to make herself as small as possible in her seat. Her eyes looking wide eyed at what was happening in the front seat.

“One.”  
Before the ganger had anytime to react Viggo suddenly slammed down hard on the brakes and the BMW came to a screeching halt on the road. A cacophony of honking followed as cars swerved to either side to avoid a collision. The ganger, caught unawares still not wearing a seatbelt, lurched forward. Viggo grabbed the man’s head and slammed it face first into the dashboard. There was a dry crunch as his nose was broken. With surprising deftness Viggo wrenched the gun from the ganger’s grip and placed the muzzle squarely on its previous owners head.  
“Get out,” Viggo said sharply.  
In the moment of stillness that resided in the car the only sound was Natasha’s hyperventilating breath and a pained groan from the ganger.  
“You fucker,” spat the ganger, blood trickling from his nose, “Do you have any idea what the fuck you just did?”  
“I think I have a good idea of what exactly,” Viggo remarked calmly.  
Viggo pressed the gun harder against the gangers temple.  
“Now get out.”  
“You’re dead shitstain. You’re fucking dead.”  
The ganger fumbled with the car door, his other hand now clasping his bleeding nose. Viggo never letting his eyes or the gun off him in the meantime. The noises of the still busy offramp came flooding into the inside of the car. Engine noises interspersed with honking as other drivers showed their displeasure at the sudden interruption.  
“You mind?”  
Viggo nodded at the open car door. The ganger glared at him but slammed it shut. He heard Natasha suddenly let out a breath she had been holding.  
The last both of them saw of the ganger was him standing by the side of the road giving them a rude gesture as they speed away.

“Hold still,” Viggo said to Natasha as he rummaged through his toolbox for a moment before finding a pair of clippers. They had parked at a small sideroad away from the highway to be safe. With a snip the restraints came off and she massaged her wrists to get the blood flowing again.  
“How are you feel-”  
He didn’t have time to say much else as suddenly Natasha had wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug. Her face pressed into his chest. He could hear her crying again.  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated between sobs, her voice slightly muffled by his jacket.  
Viggo found himself at a slight loss what to do and simply stood there as she cried tears of joy at her newfound freedom.

In the end Viggo dropped her off at her grandparents' home. He couldn’t help but to smile slightly at the sight of the happy and tearfilled reunion between them. When he tried to hand over the credstick with the money for the job, feeling that he didn’t deserve it, Natasha had simply shook her head and said that he should keep it. She then added, with a smile, that he had still done a delivery after all.

Viggo jolted awake in his dingy hotel room to the sound of his commlink buzzing. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and checked the time on the grungy digital clock on the bedside table. It told him in angry red letters that it was 6 in the morning. The commlink continued to buzz on the table next to the clock. The only thing the caller ID showed was a red crown. Puzzled he answered.  
“Yes?”  
“Good morning Mr Räikkönen or do you want me to call you Shmarovoz? I’m very sorry for calling you this early.”  
The female voice on the other side spoke perfect english without any noticeable accent. Her tone was professional but courteous at the same time. He noted that she pronounced his last name with surprising accuracy.  
“Who is this?” He asked in accented english.  
“You can call me Red Countess, as for who I am? Let’s just say I’m your ticket out of your current predicament.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I’m a fixer Mr Räikkönen. My job is to know things, and right now I know you are a highly qualified driver currently on the run for not doing your job.”  
Viggo frowned, feeling somewhat confused.  
“But wouldn’t that make me less qualified?”  
“On the contrary, your actions show you that have a conscience. Something of a rare commodity in this day and age.”  
“Well then Ms Countess, you mentioned something about a ticket?”  
“Straight to the point, excellent Mr Räikkönen.”  
“Please, just call me Shmarovoz or Maro when dealing with polite company such as yourself.”  
“Very well then Maro, as you might understand I’m in need of transporting some goods cross country. A small suitcase containing something for someone.”  
“Where to exactly?”  
“That would be Vladivostok.”  
There was a moment of silence as Viggo thought.  
“Maro?” came Countess voice.  
“Where is the pickup point?”


	2. Everything Is Going to Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like somebody's watching me, And I have no privacy (ooh ooh)

His Soycaf had gone cold he noted with slight distaste as he took another sip from his styrofoam cup. The logo of the retail store he had bought it from splayed on the side in garish bright colours. Making himself as comfortable as possible in the car seat, Agent Volkov continued to impassively survey the crowds of people that flowed in and out of the large entrance to one of the city’s HAB complexes. A camera with a telescopic objective within easy reach on the dashboard.  
“Fucking hell Volk, next time I’m buying the food,” Agent Alexeev commented with a grimace as she crushed the wrapping paper into a ball and chucked it into the backseat. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, the logo of an ushanka tilted to the side visible on it and the name “Boris’s Blini’s” in bright red text underneath. The napkin soon joined the paper ball in the backseat.  
“The last thing I need now is a case of Baba Yaga’s revenge.”  
“Suit yourself Zhanna,” he replied flatly, barely looking her direction, scanning the milling crowds. The Vory gang members guarding the entrance standing out like sore thumbs. On the car stereo someone wailed about how the love of their life walked out on them.

There was a squawk on his commlink, and a monotone voice spoke into his ear.  
“Peregrine 3, this is Eagle’s Nest, SITREP.”  
Volkov pressed the transmission button and spoke into the transceiver.   
“Eagle’s Nest, this is Peregrine 3. Nothing to report.”  
“Understood, Eagle’s Nest out.”  
Zhanna scoffed and shook her head, having heard the message as well in her ear piece.  
“Peregrine, who comes up with these names?”  
“Could be worse,” Volkov replied slightly bemused, “I believe the second team got saddled with Sparrow. However I think team one got Sparrowhawk.”  
“Well I guess we got lucky then,” she remarked as she sank down in her seat, sipping on a can of soda, “But why birds?”  
To which he could only shrug in reply.

Time passed at a glacial pace as the two FSB agents watched the ebb and flow of the people at the HAB entrance while idly chatting between each other. Watching workers arrive and leave for their shifts and the Vory guards switching out as well. Volkov glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and then at the empty styrofoam cup in the cup holder next to him. The next status report wasn’t due for another hour he idly recalled. He rose up slightly, feeling his neck pop slightly.  
“I’m going for more coffee, you need anything?”  
She held up an empty can of soda.  
“Don’t you drink anything else?” He commented with some distaste, glancing at the pile of empty cans in the back.  
“It’s what keeps me awake during stakeouts Volk.”  
“Fine.”  
He grabbed his coat, a couple of cans tumbled off the seat in the process, and stepped out of the car. The difference between the heated car and the frigid winter air outside hit him like a hammer blow and he shivered before pulling his coat on.

The sky was as if a giant patchwork quilt had been draped over the city. The sun hidden behind the cloud cover lighting up various dark and light patches of grey. The door jingled behind him as Volkov exited the small corner store, his and his partner’s sustenance in his hands. Aside from their beverages he had seized upon a chance and thrown in a few freshly baked goods from them as well. The cold air pinched at exposed skin and he regretted not bringing his gloves with him. Every exhale created a puff of condensation that quickly dissipated, a slight cold burn in his lungs as he inhaled. He passed by a group of people clustered together, hearing snippets of conversation in heavily accented Russian about favourite Urban Brawl teams. Traditional Chinese music blared out loudly from a pair of speakers located on the outside of a small store selling various trinkets and supposed herbal remedies, the speakers cheap quality distorting the sound somewhat. 

The rest of the visible storefronts offered off brand clothing for low prices, and low quality he figured as well. Occasionally he walked past an electronics salvage and repair shop. Most obvious were the pawnshops with the massive girders mounted in front of the window. Cars and trucks buzzed by, their drivers having the same disregard for traffic rules that plagued all Russian drivers judging by the chorus of car horns and the occasional tire screech. 

Volkov neatly stepped aside a troll speaking rapidly in Chinese on his commlink, the man seemingly oblivious to his surroundings as he walked and talked. Overhead an advertisement drone in the shape of an airship flew over the street and he brusquely shoved a number of AR advertisements that followed in its wake to the side. The screens flanking the side of the blimp advertising the latest and newest commodities being sold at the nearest corporate supermarket.

The acrid smells of heavy industries at work, exhaust fumes and trash reeking in alleyways were mixed in with the feeling of cold air. In the far distance ahead one of the other large HAB buildings rose into the sky above the city like a giant ziggurat of old, the tip of the gigantic building almost piercing through the cloud cover. In the distance through the faint smoggy haze and factory exhausts at least one more could be spotted rising up into the dreary grey sky. Over the din of the traffic he could hear the thumping noise of rotor blades from what he assumed was a military helicopter on a patrol over the district. In the distance there was the sound of automatic gunfire, almost as if in response, the stactatto sound echoing between buildings. Looking up he spotted a burst of tracers arching into the sky. The bright orange streaks contrasting themselves against the grey quilt covering for a moment before they disappeared.

Zhanna jolted slightly in her seat when he dumped the bag of still somewhat warm baked goods into her lap as he climbed inside. She looked suspiciously at the brown paper bag.  
“What’s this?” She asked before accepting the six pack of soda from him.  
“Something extra. Anything happened?”  
“Aside from the usual? Jack and shit.”  
She opened the paper bag, the smells of freshly baked goods quickly filling the car, and pulled out a roll. Without hesitation she bit down on it and tore off a hefty chunk.  
“Now this is some good stuff,” she said, her voice somewhat muffled, “Well done Volk.”  
“Agent Alexeev please, mind your manners.”  
Zhanna flipped him off before she devoured the rest of the roll with a few bites. Volkov took a quick sip of his Soycaf and found it to his liking.  
He was now definitely ready to sit out another few hours of surveillance.

“Hang on,” Zhanna suddenly said after another hour or so, “Is that our guy?”  
Volkov picked up the camera from the dashboard while his partner pulled up a pair of small binoculars. He centered the viewfinder on a guy dressed in a dark suit carrying duffel bag. The man walking purposefully down the street, neatly dodging any large crowds or Vory gangers. The camera clicked in rapid succession.  
“He certainly matches the description,” he replied.  
“He’s certainly looking a lot better than the pictures,” Zhanna commented idly as she studied the man out through her binoculars.  
“Zhanna, focus.”  
“Fine. So where do you think he’s heading?”  
“No idea, keep an eye on him while I call it in.”  
Volkov pressed the transmit button on his commlink.  
“Eagle’s Nest, this is Peregrine 3, we have sighted the target. He’s currently moving westwards towards-” Volkov stopped and glanced in his partners direction.  
“Towards the garage it seems,” she replied.  
“Towards a nearby garage. Standby for further updates.”  
“Peregrine 3, this is Eagle’s Nest, understood. The other Peregrine teams are on standby and will be tasked towards you if necessary.”


	3. Dinner date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maro and Léan go out to eat and talk. Direct prequel to "Getting off on good behaviour" and indirect prequel to "Rain".

“Well this place is a bit different than I had expected,” Léan commented casually before the elf took a swig from the can of cheap Russian beer. Viggo or Maro as he was otherwise known as, gave her an amused look before mirthfully asking.  
“What had you expected then?”  
“That you would go for the full wine and dine or something like that.” The redheaded elf continued.  
“Well I admit the thought had crossed my mind,” he replied with a shrug, “But I thought it’d rather take you someplace more interesting.”

They were seated at a small table in a local barbecue joint named “The Smoking Bear”, located on a side street. Its decor was an odd blend of Russian and Asian, the choice of background music very much the same. The place was decently crowded for being so late in the evening, most people ordering from the street instead of eating inside. In one corner a group of sarariman ate and drank away their worries while loudly chatting between each other. The air was warm and the smell of grilled meat and spices wafted through it while clouds of smoke wafted up from the large grills located behind the counter. The owner, a large ork, was alongside a pair of helpers busy making food.

“Besides, I’ve never liked those places,” he then continued, “They're a bit too stuffy for my taste.”  
“Could’ve fooled me,” She said with a slight smirk and slight twinkle in her grey eyes.  
“How so?”  
“Oh come on Maro,” she said, trying not to sound too incredulous, “You drive a pretty fucking high class BMW and wear a suit almost all the time. You look like you belong to a corp.”  
“Ah, point taken,” he replied with a slight shrug of his shoulder.  
“Don’t get me wrong though,” she added with a dismissive wave of her hand, “The corp look works. Sparrow seems to have taken a fancy to you at least.  
She cocked her head to the side inquisitively.  
“Speaking of which, what was that job she had you doing? I’ve barely seen you around the shop for the past two weeks.”  
Maro took a swig of his own beer, making a grimace at the horrid taste, before continuing.  
“Working as a bodyguard for a Tir diplomat.”  
“No shit?” Léan looked at him surprised.  
“No shit indeed,” he replied with a solemn nod.  
“So how was it like?”  
“Aside from an incident with the Vory? Pretty relaxed if not demanding at the same time.”  
“Wait? The fucking Vory tried to pounce on a diplomat?”  
Léan looked incredulously at him, to which Maro could only shrug his shoulders slightly.  
“Look, how about we actually order food first and I’ll tell you what happened.”  
“Sure. What do you recommend?” She asked while casting an inquisitive look at the nearby menu. He cupped his chin in his fingers as he studied it in tow.  
“I’d go for the Shaokao. Either that or the Teriyaki burger. Yegor knows how to do them well.”  
“Yegor?” Léan looked at him questiongly, an eyebrow arching upwards. He simply nodded towards the ork behind the counter.  
“Wait, you know the owner?” A wide grin appeared on her freckled face as she laughed softly. “Just how often do you eat here?”  
Maro looked a bit awkward for a moment.  
“Whenever I can and have the money for it I guess. I’m telling you, their stuff is fucking delicious.”  
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it then. A Teriyaki burger it is. So what’s your pick then?”  
“Probably the Shaokao or the glazed ribs. I’m going to order.”  
“Order a couple of extra beers too. Mine’s running out,” She held up a can for emphasis.

“Fucking hell, you we’re right. This is delicious,” Léan commented after taking a bite of her burger. Maro gave her a slight triumphant smile.  
“Told you.”  
“This can’t be real meat can it?”  
“Nah, it’s soy,” He said with a slight shake of his head, “Or krill in some cases but Yegor knows the way to cover up the taste with spices.”  
“Yeah, I can taste that. Oh fuck me, this thing has some heat to it too.”  
She grabbed the beer bottle and managed to almost empty it in a few gulps. Maro laughed slightly at the display.  
“Not used to spicy food?” He asked teasingly after she had finished.  
“Not particularly. At least not shit as spicy as this. I mean I lived in Germany, the only spicy food you’d usually find would be in the Schwarzwald and that’s not fit for human consumption.”  
“It’s a fair point,” he said mid chew.  
“So what was that about the Vory trying to make a jump on a Diplomat you mentioned before?”  
Maro swallowed his morsel of food before starting.  
“Well, where do you want me to start?”  
“You might as well take it from the top.”  
“Alright, so I arrived at the hotel on the dot.”

Once he had finished Léan leant back on her chair, her head cocked very slightly to the side as she looked at Maro. Looking like she had a hard time actually believing what he had just told her.  
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” She began slowly, “So once every year the Vory tries to intimidate this diplomat into doing something?”  
“Eeyup,” Maro replied while swabbing up the remains of the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread.  
“And everytime this guy in a suit shows up and stops them, correct?”  
“Pretty much, that’s what he told me at least,” he popped the soaked piece of bread into his mouth.  
“That’s a pretty fucked up tradition if anything,” she shook her head as if she was not fully grasping the whole thing, causing Maro to chuckle slightly.  
“Funny enough I said something similar when he mentioned it.”  
“How did he take it?”  
“Well by the looks of it. I mean he hired me for the rest of his stay.”  
“Who was the Vory guy again?”  
“He said it was Igor Strelkov I think.”  
“Hang on a fucking second here,” Léan raised one of her hands, “Are we talking the fucking Igor Strelkov?” Lean’s eyes then widened in obvious surprise.  
“Second in command of the Eastern Vory? Yeah, that’s him,” Maro replied casually.  
“And you’re telling me he got a good look at you? You sure you shouldn’t be looking over your shoulder all the time?”  
Maro’s only response was yet another shrug.  
“If he wanted me dead, I’d probably be dead by now. Figure I’m not a big enough blip on his radar.”  
“That’s a fair point,” Léan said before draining another can of beer before speaking again, “So how did he look like?”  
“Who?”  
“The guy in the suit you dumbass. Or I guess the other guy in the suit.”  
“Can’t say really. Tall, dark, handsome,” He smirked slightly at Léan. Who just rolled her eyes back at him in response, “I thought I saw him a couple of times later on but I can’t be too sure.”  
Léan looked down at her now empty plate and the several beer cans scattered around it.  
“How do you feel about seconds? I’m still kinda hungry.”  
“Sure,” Maro replied, “I’m the one paying the tab anyway.”

“So how was it?” She asked while leaning forward, resting her face in the palm of her hand. He gave her a brief questioning look before she elaborated.  
“Racing.”  
“Oh,” He said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I enjoyed it. I mean I did drop out of law school for it.”  
“Wait,” A grin formed on her face, “You dropped out of law studies so you could race cars?”  
“What can I say?” He said somewhat dismissively, “Becoming an attorney might have gotten me rich but it was just so fucking boring. So can you really blame me?”  
“Well not really,” Lean said convinced, going back to her plate again, “ It does sound like the most boring shit ever. I take it your parents didn’t like that decision very much.”  
Maro laughed softly.  
“On the contrary, my friend, they were completely fine with it.”  
“Really?” Léan didn’t sound too convinced, “You’d think they’d disagree with you doing something like that.”  
“Yeah,” he nodded, “But the thing is that our family has a bit of a history of race car drivers and not to mention it’s a national thing of sorts. But it was fun. Especially once I switched over to Touring car racing. As much as I wanted, I could never get into the Formula 1 league, despite our country's history of great drivers in that field.”  
“Why was that?” she wondered, to which he rubbed his thumb against his index and middle finger.  
“A question of money pretty much. Most teams are corp sponsored and it can be hard for a rookie to really get a foot in. Especially if you only have a history in rally racing like me. Not to mention most of the drivers are riggers as well. Just to be able to handle the cars and the speed.”  
“You’re not much for that? Stepping inside a rigger cocoon and drive the car that way?” She asked as she grabbed another can of beer and popped it open. Maro shook his head.  
“Nah, I prefer having my hands on a steering wheel and being there in person.”  
“I hear ya,” She slightly raised her can, “ I feel pretty much the same about that.”  
“Anyway, managed to get selected for a decently sized racing team and that was pretty much the start of that. You more or less know what happened beyond that.”  
“So lemme guess,” Léan began waxing dramatically making a wide gesture with her free hand, “You got to travel the world and race fast cars at exotic locales.”  
“I wish,” Maro scoffed and rolled his eyes slightly, “Sadly I wasn’t part of the international series. Only the German Touring Car Masters series which just meant parts of Europe.”  
He stopped to think for a moment.  
“Lesse, usually a season involved nine rounds of two races each on nine different tracks.” He counted off each location on his hand, “Located in the AGS, Hungary, Russia, Austria and the Netherlands.”  
“Wait, does that mean you raced on the Ring?”  
Maro’s face cracked cracked into a sly smile as he nodded.  
“Of course I did. At least once a season.”  
“Well fuck, I’m actually kinda jealous right now.”  
Léan huffed which caused him to chuckle in response.  
“Wait, for real?” He cocked head slightly as he looked surprised at the elf.  
“I mean come on here Maro, that place is a track with a pedigree a mile long.  
He chuckled at the obvious pun, something she ignored and continued on.  
“It’d be like being a Formula 1 racer and not race in Monaco for instance.”  
“You do raise a fair point there,” he nodded in agreement.  
“But yeah, I’ve always kinda dreamed about taking a bike around that track at least once. Never got the chance despite going the circuit a couple of times back in AGS.”  
“Wait, you mean you raced as well?”  
It was now Léan time to look proud and she shot back a grin at him.  
“Yup. Even if I do prefer motorcycles to cars. I never got anywhere with that professionally, but I enjoyed myself.”  
Maro could only nod in agreement, fully understanding what that was like.  
“I take part in the occasional street race here in VK too just to make sure I’m not too rusty.”  
“What is your top choice for a bike then?”  
“Oh, that’s easy,” Léan replied with confidence.

“What was your best race?” Maro asked with obvious interest. After draining another can of beer and leaning back on his chair, “I mean all racers seem to have at least one so I figured you’d have one as well. That one race that just keep thinking back to.”  
Léan chewed in silence for a moment while she thought.  
“ Well fuck. That’s a hard one but I think I’d have to cheat and say one of my past runs.”  
“Really now?” Maro sounded intrigued, “Sure, I’ll let that count in this case. Seems only fair.”  
“How gracious of you,” Léan dryly remarked before she continued, “Alright so this was back when I was still in the AGS. The job itself was fairly straight forward, stealing a prototype car from a corp warehouse. Of course the Johnson forgot to mention what kind of car it was. Now that turned out to be a fun little surprise.” She smiled slightly at the memory.  
“So what did it turn out to be then?” he asked, obviously keenly interested.  
“Oh just the prototype for the next model in the Porsche 911 series,” she said with a huge grin.  
Maro looked back at her in obvious surprise.  
“Wait, you mean the new Porsche Carrera 6 GT?”  
“Mhm,” Léan replied with a slow nod, still grinning widely.  
“Oh you lucky fucking bastard,” Maro blurted out while laughing, “I guess it’s my turn to be jealous now.”  
“Yeah let’s just say that we all had about the same reaction when we pulled off the tarpaulin and saw what was underneath.”  
“So what happened after that?”  
“Well being the team’s wheelman I got the honor of driving that thing out of there.”  
“No time to load it onto a truck I imagine?”  
She nodded.  
“Yeah pretty much, not to mention we were damn sure the security was closing in on us. But as it turned out a prototype sports car coming roaring out from a warehouse is the perfect distraction.”  
“I can imagine that,” Maro grinned.  
“But my god was it a fucking delight to drive. The security and the police tried chasing after me, but good luck trying to catch a car going at like 280 km/hour through traffic. The only persistent buggers were the drones but those I manage to shake those off to after a while.”  
“Goddamn, consider me impressed if anything.”  
Léan raised one one of her eyebrows while looking at him nonplussed.  
“Maro, you drove straight through a police roadblock not too long ago and survived and you’re calling what I did impressive?”  
“Well yes,” he nodded in agreement before continuing, Although technically I drove second after that former truck now pile of scrap that is standing in your garage getting slowly repaired by us. Not to mention that’s very different from driving through city traffic at high speeds with the police on your tail.”  
“Fine,” Léan shrugged somewhat dismissively.  
“So how was the car?” He asked with a grin.  
“An absolute fucking dream,” Léan replied with an almost wistful sigh, “Everything about it just felt right. From the engine noise to the way the thing handled on the road. I was honestly kinda sad that I had to hand it over to the Johnson afterwards.”

“So what was that about a new apartment that you mentioned before?” Léan asked as she pulled the tab on yet another can of cheap beer.  
“A gift from Mr Ivanov for the job we pulled off for Karpov a couple of weeks back.”  
“Where’s it located?”  
“Narva district.”  
“Shit, that’s a pretty high class place.”  
“Yeah,” Maro said, not looking too enthused.  
She looked at him curiously.  
“I’m guessing that face is not because of the beer.”  
Maro let out a slight sigh of frustration before answering.  
“No, not quite.” The tinge of annoyance was readily apparent in his voice.  
“So who gave you that place?”  
“Karpov,” he replied flatly.  
“Ah. Why?”  
“As a “reward” for the job we pulled off for them, the one with the ghouls.”  
“Right,” she nodded, “But I take it there was a caveat.”  
“Of course,” he said with a slight scoff, “If they call we listen more or less. Or as Mr Ivanov put it ‘hear them out’,”  
He made another annoyed face for emphasis.  
“Fucking figures. I take it everybody else went for it.”  
Maro nodded.  
“Yeah, Lana,” it was now Léan’s turn to scoff, “Swallowed it hook line and sinker the instant it was mentioned.  
“Go fucking figure, Tit-tania would have probably dived under the table at the merest hint of her getting something out of it. What about the others, that elf and orc duo?”  
“They’ve moved in as well. Katya has her old man to think about as well so I can’t blame them for wanting to move up a bit. And Tavet got reunited with her family as well.”  
“And you?”  
He sighed again, this time sounding more resigned than annoyed.  
“Yeah I moved over as well, we’ll be using the old apartments as a place to lay low if needed.”  
“So what’s the hang up then? I figured anyone would have jumped at the idea of getting a place in Narva of all places in the city.”  
“Sure, the place is nice and all, almost feels a bit too big for me. Completely unmarked too for that part. But at the same time the whole thing comes with too many strings attached to make it feel justly earned. In this case I don’t like being beholden to someone this powerful.”  
Maro made another annoyed face as he stopped to think, idly toyed the beer can he was holding in his hands.  
“Let me put it this way, if someone fairly rich or something handed you the keys to a fairly standard apartment. As a reward for something like saving their life or pulling off a big job for them. Would you consider that odd?”  
She thought about it for a second before answering, taking a sip of her own beer.  
“Nah, not really.”  
“Okay, what about a major celebrity giving you an apartment or such?”  
“As unlikely as that sounds I wouldn’t say no. That seems like a personal reward or something.”  
“Then say a corporation hands you the keys to what feels like a mansion and tells you to have fun, what about that?”  
“I admit I’d be somewhat weirded out about that. I’d figure they’d want something from me in return.”  
“Yeah, it’s kinda like living with the sword of damocles right above your head at all time if you get my point. I don’t like accepting gifts like this. I’ve turned down new cars and other things from supposedly grateful criminal figureheads for doing jobs for them. It kinda feels like a bribe.”  
“Wait, other things?” There was an amused look on her face.  
“Oh please,” Maro gave her a deadpanned look, “Like you can’t figure that one out by yourself.”  
“True,” She laughed, “But yeah you have a point I guess. So why did you move in?”  
“Didn’t want to be ornery,” he shrugged his shoulders and drained his beer can.  
“Good idea, but shit, a corp place like that must be crawling with various kinds of bugs. Especially one they’ve handed out to runners. You did sweep the place right?”  
He nodded.  
“Eeyup, several times as well. Got a fairly decent jammer set up as well just to mess with anything I’ve managed to miss. I made some inquiries with Countess about it just to be on the safe side. They probably still got half a dozen eyes and ears on me anyway.”  
He made another another annoyed look which caused Léan to chuckle.  
“Hah, sounds to me you’re well on your way to becoming a solid runner.”

“I propose a toast.”  
“A toast?” Léan sounded amused but not overly against it, “That sounds really fucking corny coming from you.”  
“Well I propose a toast to fast cars and the lucky people who get to drive them.”  
Maro raised the beer can he held in his hand. Léan smiled slightly and shook her head in apparent disbelief before raising her own can.  
“A toast to us lucky bastards then.”  
They taped the cans against each other and drained the last of its content.  
“You ready to leave?” He asked.  
“Yeah, I’m full. Not sure if I can eat more right now.”  
“Not even dessert?”  
“That depends entirely on what kind of dessert we’re talking about here,” she shot back with a sly grin.  
“Let me just pay first. Yegor doesn’t take kindly to people trying to run away from the bill.”  
“Really, what does he do to them?”  
“Usually rough them up a bit and then throws them outside.”  
“That sounds pretty tame to me.”  
“You haven’t seen Yegor throw.”

It was well into late night when they returned back to Léan’s workshop.  
“Really Maro? You’re seeing me off at the door too?”  
She sounded more amused than annoyed or anything else, her cheeks were slightly flushed from all the beer they’ve had. He thanked his lucky stars for the fact that cars had autopilot because he felt he had also had a bit too many beers to even be driving anywhere. He figured a stop at a street food vendor was in order before heading home. Or a bottle of water or three.  
“Well I thought it felt right;” he replied with a casual shrug, “Haven’t been on that many dates recently.”  
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” She asked teasingly.  
“Oh no, don’t give me that,” He shot back, causing her to laugh.  
“Relax, I was joking. I enjoyed myself.”  
“Yeah same.”  
“Care for another drink? I think I have some decent scotch somewhere. Just to wash away the taste of that god awful trash the Russians call beer.”  
She gave him a coy look as she said this. Maro wasn’t too sure what to say but then his commlink rang and answered the question for him. He pulled it out of a jacket pocket and saw the icon of a bird on the caller ID screen. He gave Léan a slightly apologetic look and answered.  
“Good evening Ms. Sparrow.”  
In the corner of his eye, he could see a very brief look of disappointment on Léan’s face. But she simply leaned against the door in silence, her hands folded over her chest.  
“Good evening Mr. Maro,” The Fixers voice was as always professional and courteous, “I hope I’m not disturbing you during your dinner with Ms. Léan.”  
Maro frowned slightly but didn’t ask how she knew about that.  
“No, not at the moment.”  
“Excellent, so I have a bit of a situation that I could need your assistance with.”  
“I’m listening.”  
“So it turns out that a street racer that regularly works for me has gotten ill and I’m in need of a replacement driver for a race in a few days. Are you interested?”  
Maro looked at Léan, the lingering traces of what seemed to be disappointment had by now slid over to something akin to a sense of resignation. She just gave him a nod.  
“Yes,” was his short reply.  
“Good, I suggest you sober up slightly first and then stop by the hotel so we can discuss the details. Be seeing you Mr. Maro, do give Léan my regards and apologies as well.”  
“Likewise Ms. Sparrow.”  
With that the call came to an end and he pocketed his commlink. He gave her a slightly awkward look.  
“Sparrow says hi by the way and apologises at the same time,” he said slightly apologetically, “But ‘duty’ calls I guess”  
“Yeah, seems like it,” She said somewhat flatly, “The offer still stands by the way, for another drink.”  
“Some other time I guess.”  
“Yeah, thanks by the way. I really enjoyed it,” She gave him a friendly smile.  
“Same, goodnight Léan.”  
“Goodnight Maro.”


End file.
